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Morning view from Kitchen

Morning view from kitchen. As The leaves have fallen off this statuesque beech tree, so too I’ve been going through my own state of ‘leaf-losing’. For the first time in six years my adopted liver is not happy. We are at the beginning stages of finding out why. Perhaps it is par for the course- everything goes up and down all the time. Life is flux. It’s incredible though, how quickly as humans we adapt to forgetting as we get on with our planning, projecting and daily life. This can lead to taking for granted the beauty that is in front of us, the potential for being true to ourselves.

After my transplant, it wasn’t long before I fell back into living from a place of fear. My insecurities often overwhelmed relationships and dictated my decision-making. In order to ‘carry on’ living, I put on masks to assure others that I was ok, when really I had deep trauma that I didn’t know how to process.

As I again refocus on the things that matter most to me- my son, family, and finding joy everyday- I am also reflective of the wider view; of a lifetime of challenges behind me and new ones that are coming into view.

Many assume that life goes on as normal post-transplant. Who knows, for some, maybe it does. For me, there has been years of understanding PTSD. It has been an invitation to know myself and my patterns more fully, and a lens to better understanding mental health. There has been a continual reminder of life’s fragility on this path towards kindness, forgiving, and truthfulness. There are countless layers to this onion.

Most importantly, the latest rendition of ‘we’re all going to die at some point, but some sooner than others’ has been a reminder of my deep desire to live. I want to know my son as a man, I want to see that beech tree blossom for many more years to come.

Also, I’d like to have the chance to be understood, or at least forgiven for my human mistakes.

And then, there is life on the spectrum.

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